


Sometimes I Can Forget

by PepperF



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-29
Updated: 2008-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Postscript to Unnatural Selection</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes I Can Forget

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote Sam/Jack pr0n! For the first time.
> 
> I could've sworn I'd written some Sam/Jack pr0n before, but no - I'd written Jack/Jack's imagination, and Sam/MacGyver, but technically, neither is actual Sam/Jack. :)

They have to be quick – Jonas and Teal'c will come back to the bridge as they enter Earth's orbit. They oh-so-subtly left Sam and her commanding officer to talk out the tense silence that has hung between them since they left Hala.

But neither of them wanted to talk.

Sam flicks the release mechanism that allows her to push the arms of his command chair aside, and ignores the pulse of admiration and humor that flares briefly in his eyes, souring into anger and lust as he pulls her toward him. She falls with her legs either side of his lap. She's probably going to crush his legs.

Good.

She presses the full length of her torso against him, pushing him back into the chair and curling her hands into fists around the headrest as she kisses him angrily. One of his hands wraps around the back of her neck, thumb pressing into the ache at the base of her skull as he kisses her back, lips unyielding, encasing teeth. The other drops to her hip, pressing her down as he grinds up, and she gasps and turns her head, inadvertently tucking her face into the warm cradle of his palm. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, and they press together, forgetful with need.

Then they're stripping one another. She pushes his jacket off, slides his shirt up. He retaliates by lifting her shirt up and off; flinging it with a recklessness that will no doubt cause them a moment of panic later. As her hands come back down she unhooks her bra, and he shoves it aside, entangling them both until she tugs it free and drops it. It's already forgotten as he dips his head and eagerly buries his mouth against her breast. The rogue tuft of hair on top of his head brushes her chin, as her head falls back. She wraps her arms around him, letting the emotions wash through her: tenderness, anger, loss.

She welcomes the distraction of his hands as they stray lower, drawing her focus back to the physical. One of his hands spans her thigh, thumb stroking frustratingly close. The other is exploring as far as he can reach down the back of her pants. With a growl, she quickly reaches between them and unbuttons, unzippers – first her, and then him, reaching in and wrapping her hand around his eager cock unhesitatingly, as though it was a familiar action. He pushes mindlessly against her hand, and then gets himself under control with admirable speed.

They pause for a moment and look at one another for the first time since they started this, exchanging unspoken logistics. Then he helps her up, supports her as she kicks off one boot and the last of her clothes, squirms obligingly as she removes as much of his as is necessary. Then he pulls her back into his lap, and he is hot and hard and very ready, and she spreads her legs and tilts her pelvis and grabs the headrest for balance.

She hasn't spoken to him since they left Hala. As they push together into unfamiliar territory, all she says is, "Wait, wait—" and then, "Yes."

Her toes curl against the cold floor, and she's glad of his hands pressing heavily down on her ass. She doesn't have much leverage, but she has gravity, and she uses it to get him as far inside her as he can go. Neither of them is going to last long, but that's okay – they may not have done this before, but they've had six years to learn one another's every nuance in the field, and it's translating pretty well. He wraps his arms around her and grips her shoulders. She leans her forehead against his, panting, moving frantically, and then – god – she's coming, and he gasps something that may or may not be a word, and presses his lips against every bit of skin he can reach, and he's following.

As they slowly return to their bodies, she realises that she's cold – that his legs are probably numb – that the others could come back at any moment – and that they can chalk up one more huge mistake to the list. She closes her eyes, and sighs, and he slides his hand up her back and sinks it into her hair, resting his head exhaustedly against her shoulder.

"We did the right thing," murmurs Jack, lips gently brushing her collarbone.

She still doesn't believe it. But for the moment, she'll trust that he does.


End file.
